I shrug, glancing down at my watch for show.
“Depends on how stubborn they are.” I flex my fingers around the pliers as an idea forms. A terrible, painful idea, but one that might just work. “You might want to get comfortable. Or take care of other business. I’ll send for you when I have something.”
There are cameras in here. I remember seeing this room on the bank of screens in the security office. Without making it obvious, I angle my body, my back shielding the men from view.
“I want to hear what they have to say.” Kozlov’s tone brooks no argument.
Another shrug. Fine. Plan B.
“Suit yourself.” Making a show of unbuttoning my shirt and folding it before setting it down on the steel table that sits to one side, I give Dimitri a wink, knowing he’ll hate it. He sneers at me, but I don’t miss how he takes in my muscular form.
“Jesus,”’ one of the guards whispers, staring wide-eyed at my ripped torso. All shifters are muscular, but I’m even bigger than most, meant to be the alpha of my clan one day, designed to protect the bear cubs and females under my watch.
“Who sent you?” I press closer to the man who swallows hard, looking at my scarred body, the result of regular battles with my father as a teen before he finally drove me out.
Finally, he remembers I asked him something and meets my eye defiantly. No shake of his head. No reply. Just a mutinous glare that tells me we won’t get any information from these men.
“Fine,” I mutter, reaching out to grab his shirt and pull him closer, pliers in my right hand.
Kozlov’s brow furrows in confusion. The prisoner’s eyes widen, and he digs his toes into the ground, attempting to stay away from me.
“What are you doing?” Dimitri asks, but soon he’s averting his eyes and looking at the wall instead, a grim look on his shocked face.
With the prisoner trying to thrash from my grip, I bring the pliers down between us, but instead of gripping his skin, I clamp it down on my own side, catching a fold just above my hip, and tear.
The prisoner watches with horror as the skin peels away before looking at me like I’m completely deranged.
white hotis white-hot, searing, and exactly as bad as I expected.
Blood wells immediately, running down my side in dark rivulets, with a strip of my own flesh dangling from the pliers, raw and glistening.
I toss the torn skin onto the floor at Kozlov’s feet.
“That’s what I’m going to do to you,” I say calmly, even as my body screams. “Piece by piece. Until you talk.”
Kozlov has gone green. He stares at the bloody strip of skin on the concrete and the wound on my side that, unbeknownst to him, is already starting to knit closed beneath the blood, and swallows hard. “I’ll... be in my office.”
He turns on his heel and walks out, one hand pressed to his mouth.
“That’s fucked up.” Dimitri lingers, his expression caught between disgust and grudging respect. “You’re insane.”
Behind me, the prisoner’s heart is thumping, and I can scent his fear. He wasn’t worried about a beat down but being left alone with a man willing to pull lumps of his own skin off is enough to have tipped him over the edge.
“I’m effective.” I meet his gaze steadily. He considers me for a long moment, then nods sharply. “I’ll be upstairs. Radio when you have something.”
The door clangs shut behind him, and I wait, listening to his footsteps fade upstairs.
Then I move.
I’m acutely aware of the guards watching my every move, and of the cameras I remembered from my tour with Igor.
“Can you hear me?” I keep my voice low and my back to the main camera.
The conscious one nods, just barely, his entire focus on the deep gash on my side.
“Good. Tell me who you are. Cops, feds, something official, right? I’m not going to kill you, but I need information, and I need you to make this look real.”
Yanking his head back hard, I look him in the eye and he nods, imperceptibly, but it’s there. Bouncing on my toes in front of him like I’m really enjoying myself, I swing again, pulling the punch at the last second so it grazes his jaw instead of breaking it.
